Anniversary
by Crawler
Summary: Burt and Kurt have very strict traditions when it comes to the anniversary of Mrs Hummel's death, but when show choir nationals and the anniversary fall on the same day, traditions have to change.


**Title:** Anniversary

**Author: **Spider

**Pairing, Character(s):** Kurt and the rest of the ensemble

**Rating: **G

**Warnings:** Reminiscing on death

**Spoilers: **Nothing, really.

**Disclaimer: **DEFINITELY not mine.

**Summary: **Burt and Kurt have very strict traditions when it comes to the anniversary of Mrs Hummel's death, but when show choir nationals and the anniversary fall on the same day, traditions have to change.

**Notes: **Written in response to a prompt over on glee_angst_meme ( h t t p : / / c o m m u n i t y . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / g l e e _ a n g s t _ m e m e / 3 3 6 . h t m l ? t h r e a d = 7 0 6 1 2 8 # t 7 0 6 1 2 8 if you want to read the full prompt)

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**ANNIVERSARY**

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There was an apartment behind the garage.

There was an apartment with the door locked tight, the blinds pulled low over the windows.

It wasn't much: one bedroom, a tiny kitchen in a corner of the main room, a bathroom just barely big enough for the tub, much less the toilet and miniscule sink. There was one closet in the whole place, and only a few pieces of furniture—a table for two, a collapsing sofa with faded green velvet upholstery, an ancient television on a stand propped up by a dictionary, and an antique oak bed with a mattress that creaked and groaned if you so much as _looked _at it.

And there were pictures. Pictures of Burt when he still had hair, of Julie with her kittens. Pictures of the pair on their wedding day, surrounded by their family. Pictures of Hummel Tire and Lube when the paint on the sign was fresh and shining, with Julie's arms thrown around a laughing Burt's shoulders, planting a big smack of a kiss on his cheek. There's a framed newspaper clipping of the auto show they met at, where Burt was dreaming of his future and Julie's father was just trying to find the biggest and the best car for his little girl's sweet sixteen. There were pictures of the young couple in every state of their life in this apartment, culminating in the pair standing in front of a little cottage, one of Julie's hands in Burt's, one resting on the bump in her dress, and her handwriting scrawled in the corner: _Almost ours!_

The door stayed locked; the memories frozen in time. Only once a year was the key brought out, when Hummel Tire and Lube shut down for the afternoon as Big B and Junior, the last of the Hummels, hand in hand, slipped into the back and let themselves cry.

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* * *

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"Nationals this year! Congratulations!" Burt clapped Kurt on the back, grinning at his boy. He had been _so proud_ when New Directions completely swept the Regional competition, and while he didn't know much about music, he knew what he liked. And he liked seeing his sons on that stage, such obvious joy in their faces as they belted out songs Burt had heard thousands of times coming from their bedrooms. They had worked hard for this... and while Burt didn't understand music, he understood long practices and grueling performances and the sheer _thrill_ of victory and moving up a round. And _Nationals_. His son was going to perform on a stage in New York City, in a _National _championship.

For show choirs, but still. Burt had long ago accepted that Kurt would rather sing and dance than kick a football (even if he was _just as good _at the kicking thing, and with a bit of practice and training would probably have a shot at college-level... no. He wouldn't go there. Kurt was Kurt, and Kurt was not a football player in his heart).

"Yeah..." Kurt seemed less than enthused as he trailed after the family to the car. Finn was whooping and bouncing in the lead with Carole. "I... didn't actually want to win this time."

"What?" Burt looked back at Kurt. What was this? Was this some part of the music world he didn't understand? "Why the hell not? Your team was awesome, and you've worked your butts off for this..."

"Nationals is on May 23," Kurt whispered.

All the pieces clicked into place. May 23. The day Julie died. Burt's throat tightened as he squeezed Kurt's shoulder. "She would have wanted you to win."

"But it's _her _day!" Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head. "I... I can't. I just won't go with the team. We've got fifteen members now, that's plenty. They don't _need _me... I'll just sit it out this year"

"Like hell you will!" Burt turned to face his son, grabbing Kurt by both shoulders. "It's been ten years, Kurt. _Ten._ You think she'd let you pass up this chance just for her?"

"But I-"

"You're gonna go to Nationals," Burt said. "You're gonna sing your heart out. And she's gonna be right there beside you, and she's gonna be _just as proud_ as I am, watching you from the audience."

Kurt was shaking his head again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "No, no no no, we can't just _leave _her here, alone... _no_."

"She won't be _here_, Kurt," Burt said. "She'll be here." He touched Kurt's chest, above his heart. "She's always right here. She lives in _you_, Kurt, not in that cemetery. Not in that apartment."

"We've never missed a year," Kurt insisted. "Not once. Even when you had that cold, we still did it. We can't... it's _ten_. We can't not be there for ten..."

Burt looked down at his son, his son with his mother's face, a dampness to his lashes the only sign that he was miserable. His beloved Glee Club had just won Regionals, guaranteeing their continued existence, and were going on to Nationals, and Kurt was _crying _because he thought his mother would be alone on the anniversary of her death. How could Burt explain that maybe it was time to move on, to let Julie's ghosts go? They had Carole and Finn now, their little family doubled in size. They weren't alone any more. And going to Nationals didn't mean they loved Julie any less, or didn't miss her presence in their lives. It meant that they were healing.

"I'll stay, then," Burt said quietly. He couldn't explain it all to Kurt. Kurt barely remembered a time before his mother's death. She wasn't all that real to his son, and all Kurt knew her by was the anniversary traditions they had upheld. "If you go to Nationals, and you sing out your heart for her, and for me, I'll stay here so she's not alone."

Kurt opened his eyes, looking up at Burt, and Burt just nodded. "I'll stay here, Kurt. But Carole's going, and she's bringing me back a video."

"Thank you, Dad," Kurt whispered, blinking rapidly, his stage makeup making his eyes look absolutely huge in the fading light. "I... I think I can do that."

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* * *

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"Start spreading the news!" Rachel had her face pressed up against the van's windows as they drove through the streets of the city. "I'm leaving today!"

Tina laughed from the other side of the van, joining in the song. "I want to be part of it! New York, New York!"

"Kurt, look!" Mercedes jostled Kurt's arm, pointing excitedly out the window. "Barney's New York!"

"How nice," Kurt said, keeping hands and feet to himself. He had taken the middle seat in the van, perfectly happy to let everyone else snag window seats, laughing and singing and generally being excited about being in the city that never slept.

Kurt had been to New York before. His grandmama, his mother's mother, lived in the city and often summoned Kurt to her side during school holidays, taking him to Broadway shows and all the best shops, making sure her sole grandchild never wanted for anything. She didn't believe Burt was capable of raising a fashion-forward young diva in a backwards hicksville like Lima.

Still, for all the times Kurt had been to NYC, he usually couldn't get enough of the city. Right now, though, he wanted more than anything to be back in Lima, with his dad, getting the white lilies ready for his mother's grave. White lilies were their tradition. Every year, on May 23, Kurt and Burt would wake up and silently get ready for their day, making cold breakfasts without using the stove or the microwave. Kurt wasn't sure what Burt did, but he personally took a quick cold shower and only used the barest essentials for his skincare regimen. After a tight, long hug, Kurt would go to school and Burt would go to the shop.

After school, Kurt would leave his car at the shop and they both would gather up the lilies they had selected the day before, and sealed envelopes bearing very thick letters. No one else ever read these letters. Kurt poured his heart out into them, sometimes writing several over the course of the year, talking to his mom, telling her how things were going, things he was sure she already knew, because he knew she was with him in spirit, but things he needed to say. He had confessed his sexuality to her years before he told Mercedes, and written about his fear of coming out to his dad. He had gushed over his crush on Finn and his utter misery after Burt had thrown Finn out of the house. Julie was the only person who got to hear all of Kurt's private fears and insecurities, and while she never once offered him advice in return, she also never once mocked him.

Burt would go first, standing in front of Julie's grave while Kurt traced his fingers over the weathered stone angels of another's grave, reading family names and wondering about the lives of the people now in the ground, giving his dad privacy. After Burt set his letter and lilies down, Kurt would move to his side. One hug, sometimes short, sometimes unending, and then Burt would slip away to let Kurt have a moment with his mother. Again, setting the letter and flowers down was the signal for the other Hummel to return, and the two would stand there, side-by-side, their arms touching as they looked at Julie's grave, lost in their thoughts. Kurt would never fail to tear up, wishing he could remember the last words his mother had ever spoken to him before sending him off for school. He couldn't even remember what he had had for breakfast that morning, or what he had been wearing.

Eventually, one of them would kiss his hand and press it to the inscription beneath Julie's name, the other following suit. Burt would always cover the 'loving wife,' while Kurt's smaller hand would press against 'mother.' Without words, they would both climb into Burt's truck and return to the garage.

The Hummels' return signaled the other mechanics to pack up and close the shop. Kurt would stand in the middle, arms folded tight over his chest, gripping his elbows, while Burt went to fetch the apartment keys from his office. The other mechanics knew better than to try to engage either Hummel in conversation, but the older ones, the ones who had been working for Burt even before the fire, would usually squeeze Kurt's shoulders as they passed. They knew what the day was. The younger ones just saw it as a paid afternoon off.

Once the shop was cleared, Burt would emerge, and Kurt would slip his hand into his father's. They still wouldn't speak as they went into the back and Burt unlocked the door, opening them both to the memories of those horrible weeks when they had no house, no pets, and no Julie. They would stand there for a while, until one of them, usually Kurt, moved to the closet. Nothing hung on the wire coat hangers, but there always was a vacuum and cleaning supplies. And they would clean. The two Hummels would attack the apartment, launching a war on the dust and dirt that threatened the memories. And as they stirred up dust, they would begin to speak. _Do you remember the time we..._

_The first time you took a step was..._

_I remember her wearing this dress..._

The two sneezed and coughed and cried and laughed until they collapsed onto the velvet sofa at the end of the day, Kurt nestled up close to Burt's chest. Burt would withdraw a vial of perfume from his pocket, and Kurt would take it and spray one pump into the air, closing his eyes and tipping his face up as he remembered his mother's scent. She _always _wore this perfume. Burt would pull the remote out from the depths of the couch (it always wound up in the same place, tucked between the cushions) and turned on the tv. They didn't get any channels in here, but they just needed the old VCR, starting the tape they watched every year. It was an old family video, snippets of a lost life. Kurt would never comment on the atrocious fashion of the eighties and nineties, and Burt would never mention that Kurt had looked just like a girl in diapers and his mother's heels, and together they would let themselves feast on the images of Julie Alberta-Hummel, trapped forever on film.

Kurt couldn't imagine how Burt was going to do all of that alone... or how Kurt was going to get through tomorrow without bursting into tears on stage. He had left his envelope for his dad to place on his mother's grave, but... it just wouldn't be the same.

"Come on, Kurt, sing with us!" Tina was tugging at Kurt's arm as the club started up another rousing rendition of _New York, New York_, but Kurt just shook his head, pulling his arm free.

"I... ah... don't know the lyrics..." It was a lie, but Kurt didn't want to sing about New York. _Lima, Lima Ohio..._

"Neither do I!" Brittany exclaimed, leaning over her seat in the front to grin back at Kurt. "But we can sing anyway!"

Kurt sighed, but he could find no respite from the girls' infectious singing, so he pasted a smile on his face and moved his lips, hoping everyone else's loud voices could drown out the lack of his own.

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* * *

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They didn't win. Kurt hadn't honestly been expecting a win, but he had _hoped..._

Still, third place was pretty impressive for their first Nationals competition.

"We'll be right there!" Finn hung up the room's phone, grinning over at Kurt who was sitting cross-legged on his own bed. "Party in Santana and Brittany's room!"

"You... you go," Kurt said, waving his hand. "I'm still... need to come down a bit more..."

"You okay?" Finn asked. "I mean, I know it sucked your dad couldn't come, but your grandma was there, and she's actually pretty cool. And scary."

Kurt gave a thin smile and a nod. His grandmama could be _very _intimidating. He half wondered what would happen if she ever met Coach Sylvester (or if they were somehow secretly related). "I'm fine. I'm just... I'm going to call Dad, I think. And then I'll join you guys. Santana's in 438, right?"

"Yeah." Finn grinned. "It'll be the one with the _party_."

Kurt managed to keep his smile on his face until Finn was gone. Expression crumpling, he fished out his phone and speed-dialed. "Dad?"

_Hey Kurt. _Burt sounded so far away through the phone's speaker. _Carole told me you placed. Congratulations!_

"Dad..." Kurt drew his knees up, wrapping his arm around his legs. That wasn't how their talking was supposed to go on this day. They didn't say a word to each other that wasn't about Mom. "I want to come home..."

_Kurt..._

"I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be there. With you. I can't... they're having a party, and I can't even get off my bed. I just want to go home." Kurt reached up to wipe at his eyes, embarrassed at the hitch in his voice that gave away his tears. He had done his face up for the stage as soon as he finished his morning shower, just to make sure he wouldn't cry—as long as he had makeup to protect, he could keep his tears at bay. But he no longer needed the stage face, and the tears were refusing to stop. "There's not even anything to _clean _around here..."

_You'll be coming home tomorrow._

"Tomorrow's too late. I should be there _now._"

_Kurt._

Kurt could hear his father's sigh five hundred miles away, and he bit his lip, trying to hold back a sob. It was stupid, really, that he couldn't keep himself together. He was _never _this pathetic. He hadn't even cried this much at his mother's funeral.

_I love you, Kurt. And she loves you. And you know she's not here anymore. You know that._

"I know it in my head."

_She's there, Kurt. She's right there beside you. She's holding you. And she knows you love her. She will _always _know you love her, even if you're not here._

"I miss her," Kurt whispered. He heard the door unlock and open—Finn probably forgot something—so he rolled onto his side, away from the door, so his tears wouldn't be so noticeable. "How... how are you doing? You doing okay?" He sounded slightly strangled as he tried to change the topic to something that didn't sound like his mother's death. Finn didn't seem to realize what day it was, and the last thing Kurt wanted was to bring him down and make him look like a kicked puppy when they should have been celebrating. One miserable Gleek was enough.

_I'm hanging in there. Got the place nearly cleaned, but I'm sure not as good as you'd've done it. Everything okay, Kurt?_

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just-"

"You're crying."

It _wasn't _Finn who Kurt felt sit on the bed behind him, and it certainly wasn't Finn who leaned over Kurt's side and dabbed a tissue to his face. Kurt stared at Brittany in shock as she eased the phone out of his fingers and lifted it to her own ear. "Hello? Who's this? Hi, Burt Hummel. Your name sounds almost just like Kurt's. I'm Brittany. Yes, I am a cheerleader! How did you know? I'm not in my uniform. I'm all dressed up for Glee still. No, Kurt's not okay. He's crying, and he's all curled up on his side, like a baby."

"Brittany, I'm fine," Kurt said weakly, pushing himself up and reaching for the phone. "I was trying to talk to my dad..."

Brittany just shook a finger at Kurt, leaning back so he couldn't reach the phone. "I think Kurt's going to have to call you back, when he feels better. Don't worry, I'll take care of him." She laughed. "Of _course _I'll give him a hug for you! And I'll give him one from me too, because hugs and tears? Definitely a good mix. Buh-bye now!" She snapped Kurt's phone closed and set it aside, then reached out and wrapped the speechless boy in an embrace. "This is from your dad. And also from me."

"Brit..." Kurt closed his eyes as Brittany hugged him against her, slowly lifting his arms to wrap around her back.

"Shh," Brittany crooned, rubbing her hand in circles on his back. "Your dad sounded really worried."

"He worries about me too much," Kurt said softly, resting his cheek on Brittany's shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his hair, and he had to smile a little. Maybe his dad had a reason to worry. He _was_, after all, curled up on his bed and crying. "Why are you here?"

"You weren't at the party," Brittany said. "Finn said you were still here. And he let me use his key, because Santana took mine." Kurt felt her turn her head toward the hotel room door, then she leaned in close and whispered in his ear: "I _like _hotel room keys. They're like playing cards. Only they unlock stuff. I collect them."

Kurt gave another little smile at that. "Thank you, Brittany."

"Why are you crying?" Brittany's fingers went up to play with Kurt's hair, and while he half-heartedly batted her hand away once, when she returned it, he didn't even bother.

"I... it's nothing."

"Is it PMS?" Brittany asked. "Or a baby?" Her other hand went to Kurt's stomach, and he shook his head, managing to even give a very small laugh.

"It's not PMS. Or a baby."

"Crying is never nothing, unless it's one of those," Brittany said. She trailed her fingers down from Kurt's hair to run through the wet trail on his cheek. "And it's ruining your makeup. What's wrong?"

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching for a moment, before he turned his face into the side of Brittany's neck. "My mom," he finally said.

"Isn't your mom Finn's mom?"

"No..." Kurt gave a tiny shake of his head. "Carole's... dating my dad now, but I meant my real mom."

"The dead one?"

"... yes." Brittany and Kurt had sorta-not-quite been friends in elementary school. She had actually been the first to ask him what was wrong the first day he went back after the accident. Kurt was surprised she actually remembered.

"Is she sick?"

Kurt shook his head again. "She's dead."

"Oh. Yeah." Brittany hummed a few bars of their third-place-winning song, twirling Kurt's hair around her fingers. Eventually, Kurt gave a heavy sigh.

"Ten years ago. Today. She died. Ten years ago today."

"So this is the birthday of her death? Her death-day?"

"Yes," Kurt answered, his voice tiny.

"Oh baby-hands..." Brittany hugged Kurt tight, both arms around him instead of in his hair.

"It was a fire," he said, after a moment. "I was at school, got called to the principal's office. I... I was scared. Thought I was in trouble for something. But Dad was there to pick me up and take me home, and we almost got hit by a car in the process. I didn't know what was wrong, but I was crying even before I saw the fire, I was that freaked out. Mom was... the house was... our cats, too. Two of them. Three deaths. I... I saw her when they brought her out. Before Dad could cover my eyes. She was... it was..." He clenched his fingers in Brittany's dress, a harsh sob forcing its way out of his chest.

And then there was a third hand on his back, and a fourth, and one on his arm, and Kurt was sitting up so fast, his eyes flying open. The whole club was there, gathering close around his bed. Mercedes was already sitting beside him, her fingers curling around Kurt's arm, her brown eyes so big and sad, and there was Rachel, openly crying, and Artie, his legs mashed up against the bed as he patted Kurt's foot, and Quinn had one hand pressed to her mouth as she squeezed Kurt's shoulder, and Santana's hand right beside hers, and Mike was climbing onto the bed behind Kurt, and Matt was patting one of his hands, and Finn, standing right at the foot of the bed behind Brittany, looking shocked, and Puck standing off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets, actually looking apologetic, and Tina was worming up against Kurt's other side, sliding an arm around her waist, and Sam and Charice and Claire, and even Mr. Schu.

"We had no idea, Kurt..." Mercedes whispered. "I mean, _I _knew it was coming up, because you told me, but you never said it was _today..._"

"I... thought you'd want to be alone," Artie said. "I... remembered, because you stopped coming to school just one week before..." he gestured at his wheelchair.

"How did you all get in here?" Kurt asked weakly, staring around at the crowd in shock (and oh _god_, his face was probably all blotchy, and he could feel his nose running, and his make-up was surely _ruined _and his shirt all wrinkled...).

"We came with Brittany," Santana said, from behind Kurt's shoulder. "She was throwing a fit that it wasn't a proper party without you too, so we decided to move the party to you, since you were taking too long."

_And I didn't bother looking up_, Kurt thought to himself. _Just assumed Brittany was alone..._ He hadn't turned toward the door at all when she came in, hadn't noticed the rest of the club.

"You don't have to cry, Kurt," Brittany said softly, reaching out to wipe his tears with her tissue again. "You've got a big family now. And we're all here. With you."

"I can get my guitar," Puck said. "If you wanted us to start singing Kumbaya or something. Though that song is totally gay."

"It is a _great _song," Rachel shot over her shoulder at Puck. "About love and closeness and compassion."

"My mom hated that song," Kurt said. "So did I."

"What song did she like the best?" Brittany asked.

Kurt was quiet for a while, before admitting "_If I Only Had a Brain._ From the _Wizard of Oz_. She loved the Scarecrow..."

"_Dude!_" Mike leapt to his feet. "I can do that whole dance!"

"Do?" Matt asked. "Why, if I had a brain, I could wile away the hours...:

"Conferrin' with the flowers, consultin' with the rain..."

Kurt had to laugh as the whole club got into the song (Rachel sang Dorothy's lines, of course), Mike clearing the room to dance the scarecrow's part, with an appropriate amount of flailing and flopping. As the club settled around him in the room, Brittany, Tina, and Mercedes keeping him tucked between them, they all sang their favorite _Wizard of Oz_ songs out of order. Kurt let his head roll onto a female shoulder and smiled through his tears. Perhaps he couldn't smell her perfume right now, and perhaps he couldn't hear her recorded laughter, and perhaps he couldn't see her image... but for the first time today, he didn't feel like his mother was so far away.


End file.
